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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965321">five stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0dy/pseuds/c0dy'>c0dy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dude I don’t even know, Lowercase, M/M, Palm reading?, just plotless fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:00:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>854</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0dy/pseuds/c0dy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>it’s nice, and it’s familiar, and it’s a comfort against the dying and the living and the fighting and the...distance of whatever they’re doing here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Denmark/England (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>five stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>just a random drabble that fell out of my brain at like 2am. title is from five stars by cl but not relevant to the story :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>it’s dark, and muddy, and fucking loud and mathias still hasn’t been able to wrap his head around what they’re doing here. anything his boss says is just unintelligible, static in his brain, and he’s fairly certain he must have finally reached an age where none of the bullshit his people get up to registers anymore. and that should have scared him, but really he’s just tired. </p><p>he’s sat with his legs splayed, back straight against the wall of the trench, staring up into the sky as the light drizzle of rain hits his face. it’s comforting, at least. meditative. he briefly wonders if it’s raining back home. </p><p>he doesn’t acknowledge the small troupe jogging past him, he doesn’t think they’re any of his anyway, but he starts as a harsh kick makes contact with one of his legs.</p><p>“git,” arthur says, as blue eyes meet green, “i was calling you.”</p><p>“i didn’t hear,” mathias says lamely, because obviously, but he grunts anyway and starts to pull himself to a standing position. </p><p>“no, no, it’s okay! don’t get up,” is the reply, and the englishman braces a hand against mathias’ shoulder and lowers himself into the mud next to him, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap, “i just saw you and...” </p><p>he’s trailed off, biting his lip, and staring ahead. mathias says nothing, but he pats his thigh reassuringly and settles back against the wall, “i was getting existential, anyway,” he states, to break the silence, “so good think you pulled me out of it.”</p><p>arthur turns to study his face now, and mathias turns to meet him in kind. it should sort of feel weird really, dropping back into this open routine, but they’ve known eachother for millennia and it all just develops naturally. arthur’s head drops to mathias’s shoulder and it doesn’t burn with any sort of residual awkwardness, it just sort of feels right, and mathias sighs as he catches a whiff of seasalt and fresh pine. </p><p>“you smell like home,” he says, and it probably sounds creepy but arthur laughs anyway, gentle and warm, and the dane feels out to grip one of the other’s hands firmly, squeezing for reassurance which is immediately reciprocated. it’s nice, and it’s familiar, and it’s a comfort against the dying and the living and the fighting and the...distance of whatever they’re doing here.</p><p>“you smell like home, too,” arthur says, which is as close as you got to an ‘i love you’ from a man with the emotional availability of a teaspoon, so mathias grins as if he’s won some prize and lowers his head to rest on top of the brit’s. in the distance, there’s sparks of gunfire, but if mathias would close his eyes he wouldn’t think he could be able to place the year, or the war, or the meaning behind it. he does screw his eyes shut, tired and with his head pounding. the other nation shifts beside him, sitting up to wipe damp blond locks from mathias’ forehead. </p><p>“take a deep breath, and let it out,” he says, and the dane opens his eyes again, shaking his head morosely but offering his hand with splayed out fingers to the other nation, who rocks back on his knees in front of him and takes the offering with some kind of reverence. </p><p>“is it the same every time?” mathias asks, and arthur shakes his head ‘no’, deft fingers stroking along the clear lines across the other’s palm, brow furrowing as he considers what he’s seeing. it takes some time, and he doesn’t open his mouth to provide any sort of answers, just presses a gentle kiss to the heel of the dane’s palm and turns to settle back next to him.</p><p>“you’ll be fine,” is all he says, in summary, but mathias doesn’t really care to hear much else anyway. he just hums in acknowledgment and adjusts himself, so that he has arms curling around arthur’s left thigh, and his head is resting in his lap. automatically, the englishman’s fingers move to card through his tangled hair, and really this was what he had been lacking recently. just a little bit of tlc. he briefly wondered if cuddling counted as self care.</p><p>if arthur thinks any less of him for being so clingy, he doesn’t say it. just keeps gently petting his hair, fingers moving to create small braids in his fallen mess of a hair.</p><p>“you need stronger hair gel,” he says, and denmark sort of snorts at the absurdity of saying such a thing in a warzone, but the brit moves on undeterred, “you try to keep it all up and look! one bit of rain and you’ve got the same trim as me.”</p><p>“nah, mine’s sexier,” mathias says matter-of-factly, and england snorts in return, gently rubbing his thumb across the other man’s forehead. it’s nice, it’s sweet, and mathias rubs his thumbs where he has his hands on the brit’s legs, ignoring how the other’s breathing’s altered in response.</p><p>“stay a while,” mathias says.</p><p>“i’d stay forever if i could,” arthur smiles.</p>
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